What? You mean you did not hear
Nature’s span, as with man,
has four seasons to the year?
Ovid Met. XV 199
When the grass was taller than eyes could see
and frogs easily jumped into ponds
and crickets competed with fireflies for attention
and frosty snow was good to the touch
with red, wet, happy hands
When stars above soared a million miles
and there were smiles on every man-on-the-moon
and imagination bloomed like poppies wide and bright
and fearlessness with anything told we couldn’t try
with unadulterated mischievous joy
When freckled faces captained pirate newspaper ships
and danced along with Puck and elves
and innocence staid off sorrow
and angst was an unknown word
with no need for sorrow
When we, who never knew hard, never guessed worse
and bullied our way into the universe
and glad oh-so-glad traded our prized possession, Time,
and in return thought an endless train of tomorrows
with disregard to limitations and lamentations
But then our plans resolved
into a reduction of our former selves
we thought no more of pirates, ships nor elves
one by one hope becoming blurred
in memory’s fading mist,
when decisions changed our visions
as our dreams became revisions
of our once intended way;
when at night we heard a whisper say:
“Have you lost your way? Lost your way?”
But that, oh all of that, that was mere digression
in the midst of our obsession to chase down time
heavily burdening traditions, social mores and blind driven ambition
we whittled away our dwindling day
across a darkening sky with dimming comets
Now ghosts lurk in the shadows of the grassy fields plowed to the bone
Now all those dancing princes-to-be fall weakened by water-logged ships
Now all the crickets found frostbitten in driven snow
Now the road less travelled is tired and worn and there’s not plenty more of it to go
Retracing our steps from room to room and more rooms oh, god so many rooms
tracing the steps of those who stepped before then after us, too
vaguely mumbling muttering as we near, nearer near more even near our last door
“Is this all there is? Is there not more of what was before?”
What appeared as orbs of light and waves of sound is diminished into blinding ebb
What came to us once playful colorful kite now seems a clumsy laden lead balloon
What dreams were made now lay softly gathering dust upon highest shelf as we gray
hanging ten overfold in the half hopes
they return again as toys in soft happy hands
Now like old murderous crows gathered on a widow maker
Then and again gossiping and scolding the younger birds on the scene below
Now our faces turned to furrowed fields wearing on like Sisyphus’ sister
Then turning to our hands with maps of blue fine sand slipping between our fingers
As the winds begin to bluster babbling setting chills to the core
realization sets in of a we learnt and won and lost and ignored,
The final question is,:
“Will the life in its sum of its parts,
of all learnt and won
or ignored and lost
turning water to wine,
sweet outweighing bitter
be enough to heal in generations to come?”
BohoChickRising.com 